


Between Stimulus And Response

by Sweaters_and_Kneesocks



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Drabble, Friendship, Intrusive Thoughts, Other, POV Richie Tozier, it's just friendship babey, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:40:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweaters_and_Kneesocks/pseuds/Sweaters_and_Kneesocks
Summary: He struggles with intrusive thoughts sometimes.
Kudos: 3





	Between Stimulus And Response

Some say he doesn’t have a brain to mouth filter lodged in his throat via pharyngeal mucus and yeah, he’d have to agree. The ability of foresight just wasn’t there, he’d be an awful sibyll. His lack of self-control was evident from his broken glasses and scuffed knuckles, he never knew how to shut his damn mouth. It could be seen in his multitude of silver-caps and fillings in his teeth, he could never say no to one last sweet. It manifested bright colored bandages covering his appendages because he was always playing with his damned Zippo even when everyone warned him of the consequences. He knew it was witnessed in his temper and his lascivious jokes and the way he seemed to take a bit too many risks.  
He didn’t know his impulsivity could be measured in his depraved thoughts.  
In a peace, he would finally get silence, a break; but then one would crawl in front of his mind’s eye and make itself visible. All he could do was clutch his head and let a stream of consciousness fall from his lips, which was usually just a litany of ‘stops’ and ‘nos’, in order to drown it out. Thankfully the Losers Club were never quiet, forcing the thoughts to lay dormant just below the surface.  
Usually.  
Sometimes they’d start up slowly, a pianissimo thing barely fluttering in the background amongst his day-to-day ministrations. And slowly it would get louder and louder and louder until it was an unbearable fortissimo banging around his skull at a perverse tempo and he had to shout out something or he’d fucking lose it.  
Richie hunched over, dug his fingers into his scalp and screamed, “Fucking shit, stop godamnit!”  
The Losers who were scattered in various parts of the quarry and its shore all looked to Richie who was in its center, he remained a focal point until someone spoke up.  
“Richie,” said Bill, wading up to him in murky polluted water, “Was that It?”  
Richie could practically feel the fear warp Stan, Ben and Mike’s face while Beverly and Eddie remain passively resigned. It was suddenly hard to speak, like the words were caught in his throat and his mouth was welded shut. With much effort, he could finally answer, “Jesus, Bill. No it wasn’t the creepy-clown fucker.”  
All six of them sagged in relief, except for Richie who remained shaking on his own two feet, paying much more attention to the ripples of water that acted as a result rather than Bill’s caring eyes. The confusion that hung in the air between his friends was palpable, visualizing itself in the other’s tentative steps towards him. Eddie made it to him first, of course he did, it was always Eddie. Eddie didn’t seem to know what to do in this situation so he settled on latching onto Richie’s arm, saying nothing, apparently he was trying to communicate support through diffusion of a high concentration of affection of Eddie to Richie’s relatively low amount, and Richie didn’t mind.  
With one Loser attached to Richie’s arm like a limpet the others seem to relax a little, going back to previous activities with the sanctity of the buddy-system easing their worries.  
“Y’know Eds, I think I need a cigarette.”

**Author's Note:**

> i just threw this together wham, bam, thank you ma'am to destress because my finals are growing near and i know nothing. didnt even run this bad boy thru grammarly


End file.
